


Force

by lucymonster



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gaslighting, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pet Names, Surveillance, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The asset seems to think he's being unfairly treated.</p><p>Luckily, Pierce is there to set him straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to beat around the bush: this is a fic about the asset getting drugged and raped and then made to believe that he was actually asking for it. It has no redeeming prosocial message and the world is not a better place for its having been written. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> I blame osprey_archer.

The asset is still sniffling when Pierce arrives in the lab. He’s supposed to be locked in a holding cell when he starts throwing one of his tantrums, but the doctors thought he might choke on his vomit if left unattended. The lingering smell, strong and sharp even after a thorough hose bath, convinces Pierce of the validity of their concern.

The asset poses little threat in his current state, anyway. He is curled up in a ball on the low examining table, naked and dripping wet and shaking, and he doesn’t look up when Pierce dismisses his guard and takes the chair in front of him.

“Well,” says Pierce. “You’ve made quite a mess of yourself, haven’t you?”

He reaches out to brush away the wet hair plastered to the asset’s face, and the asset flinches so hard he nearly falls of the table. “Hold still,” Pierce says, and grips the asset’s chin to stop him moving away while Pierce combs his stringy hair back behind his ears. “Do you want to explain to me what happened here?” He knows, of course. He’s seen the footage. But he’s curious to see what the asset will say.

For a long, silent minute his curiosity goes unassuaged. The asset hiccoughs again and sucks in a few shaky breaths. “Sweetheart?” Pierce prompts.

“I didn’t,” the asset mumbles. His voice is thick and slurred, the lingering effect of what must have been a truly impressive sedative overdose. “Didn’t do anything. They made me…”

“Made you what?” says Pierce, but the asset is slumping back in on himself, shoulders trembling as he rests his head on his bare knees. “Where do you look when I’m speaking to you?”

“They _made_ me,” the asset informs his own knees, and Pierce gives up on gentle warnings and tugs the asset’s head up sharply by the hair. The sodden locks feel matted and unpleasant in his hand. He tightens his grip anyway, and the asset shudders all over and starts to cry.

This isn’t getting them anywhere.

Letting the asset’s head loll for the moment, Pierce turns to the display monitor and switches it on. Playing back the surveillance footage wasn’t Pierce’s first choice - he’d been planning to save it for later, once the asset had calmed down a bit from his hysteria - but it certainly works at securing the asset’s attention. His eyes come into focus when the video starts playing, and his crying cuts off abruptly. There on the screen is the asset, still in his combat gear, stretched out on the very same table he’s sitting on now; his eyelids are droopy and his face is cracked in a sloppy half-smile. Euphoria is a side effect of his sedatives that none of the doctors have been able to get rid of. The footage shows two technicians standing over him, looking distinctly less euphoric.

“Not so tough now, is he?” says one of them, a small man in a rather dirty lab coat who appears to be cradling an injured arm. “Fucking asshole. We don’t get paid enough for this.”

The camera doesn’t quite pick up the asset’s slurred response. “What are you gonna do about it?” answers the second man. Lyle, Pierce thinks. He doesn’t know the other one’s name. “You’re high as a kite. Can’t even wipe your own ass, you’re so wasted.”

The asset says something incoherent, and shifts a bit on the table, but doesn’t otherwise react. The two techs trail off into whispered conversation, which the camera picks up as an unpleasant crackling hiss. But the content of their exchange is no great mystery, because a few moments later their attention is back on the asset, and the man who isn’t Lyle is advancing on him with a very unpleasant smile. “Better get you out of that muddy gear,” he says, voice taking on an oily quality that is presumably meant to sound beguiling.

“Do you want to talk yet?” Pierce asks, interrupting the video and turning to look at the asset, whose face has gone chalky white. “I hope you’re not going to damage your technicians too badly when you throw them off you. That _is_ what you’re about to do, isn’t it?” But of course the footage hasn’t changed since Pierce last saw it, and the screen shows the asset swaying placidly where he stands as the two techs strip off the protective layers of his clothing. He nearly sends all three of them crashing when he trips on his own pants around his ankles, and giggles like a drunken girl when Lyle just barely manages to catch him. Pierce feigns surprise, but it’s lost on the asset, whose gaze is fixed on the screen in front of him. He’s rocking back and forth, arms wrapped tight around himself.

“What’s the matter, pet?” Pierce asks mildly. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Look, you’re even smiling.” He points back at the screen, which no longer shows whether the asset is smiling or not: the nameless tech has pushed him back onto the table, face down and completely naked, and is climbing up to straddle his thighs. The asset wriggles beneath him, and slurs out a very weak protest. Lyle shoves several more pills in his mouth and grins at his companion.

The asset whimpers. Twice, in fact: once on the table beside Pierce, and again on screen as the nameless tech unzips his fly and stuffs his cock inside the asset’s limp, unresisting body. Not completely unresisting, which is some small comfort to Pierce - he does seem to be making a feeble effort to spit out the extra sedative pills. But when Lyle shoves two fingers in the asset’s mouth, he doesn’t bother to bite, and lets Lyle push the pills down his throat until he swallows convulsively. A few moments later the half-hearted struggling stops altogether.

Off screen, the asset’s sobs are starting up again. Pierce turns his back firmly on the monitor and grasps the asset’s face with both hands, forcing the asset to look him in the eye. “Stop that noise,” Pierce says sternly. “I can see how this happened now. Those agents must have mistaken you for a girl, with all your fretting and crying.”

He is expecting the words to shock the asset back into some semblance of good behaviour. The actual effect is quite the opposite: the asset cries harder than ever, tears and snot flowing freely down his face. Pierce didn’t think it was possible to be more disgusted than he was when he first saw the asset giving it up to those menial technicians, but it seems he has gravely underestimated the asset’s capacity to disappoint. “If you can’t pull yourself together,” he says, deliberately calm, “I’m going to have to have you sedated again.”

It’s not a threat he intends to carry out. If he wanted the asset sedated for their conversation, he’d have done it already; in any case, he’s not sure even the asset’s robust system could cope with another round of sedation so soon after his overdose. But it works. The asset freezes, choking on his last sob; his shoulders and chest heave, but no further sound escapes his mouth.

“That’s it, darling,” says Pierce. On the screen in the background the anonymous tech is still thrusting, with a chorus of meaty impact sounds and metallic clatter as the table rocks beneath him. _You like that, bitch?_ he is saying, and _Yeah, fucking take it_ , and other things so crass and predictable that Pierce is tempted to mute the volume.

But muting it would spoil the point of his lesson. “Pay attention to what I’m showing you,” he says, and now that the asset is behaving Pierce is free to drop the stern tone and infuse his voice with sympathetic warmth. “Not an attractive sight, is it? This is what happens when you refuse to take proper care of yourself, sweetheart. When you encourage the other men to see you as an easy target.”

He’s not expecting an answer. But the asset has been out of cryo too long, and there’s a spark of emotion in his bloodshot eyes - a flicker of desperate defiance, like even now he thinks he can convince Pierce to disregard the evidence of his own eyes. “I didn’t...didn’t encourage,” he says, voice clogged and distorted by the sobs that still threaten to break through. “They made me.”

Pierce briefly closes his eyes. This is where they always seem to end up, no matter how many times Pierce shuts it down: whining, snivelling victimhood, like the asset hasn’t been given the strength of a dozen men, like he hasn’t been entrusted with all the might and dignity of Hydra and the glorious duty that comes with that gift. Things have never been quite this messy before, but there have been other incidents, childish scuffles and power plays and inane manipulation efforts, and every time it ends with the asset running back to cling at Pierce’s ankles for protection. Every time.

“They made you, did they?” he echoes. The volume on the recording spikes: more meaty slaps and and a rough, angry growl and _Fuck, he’s coming round again, hurry up and let me have a turn_. “They forced you to act up so badly in your debrief that you had to be sedated? They made you lie back and giggle like a girl while they took off all your clothes? You simply didn’t have the strength to fend off two unarmed non-combatants who were broadcasting their intentions like public radio presenters?”

The asset says nothing, but Pierce can see the comprehension finally beginning to dawn. They always get there eventually. “Come here, sweetie,” he says, and wraps an arm around the asset’s trembling shoulders. He is mostly dry now, but tacky with sweat; Pierce’s suit will have to be cleaned. “I know you don’t know how to think these things through. You probably didn’t even know you were being recorded, did you?” The asset starts to shake again; Pierce’s grip tightens, and he goes still. “It’s okay, pet. I know you’re sorry, so I’ll make sure no one else sees the footage. The other men don’t need to know how badly you’ve disgraced yourself today.” The asset slumps, leaning into Pierce’s grip a little; he lets out a shaky breath. Relief, gratitude. The obnoxious defiance has been extinguished.

Pierce will also be dealing with the people who’ve already seen the video, of course - but the asset doesn’t need to know that.

“I think you’ve seen enough,” he says kindly. The scene has changed since Pierce turned his back on the monitor - now Lyle has climbed up to take his turn, and the asset is twitching feebly beneath him. “Oh dear. They were quite rough with you, weren’t they? You know you’re going to have to be inspected, to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself damaged too badly.”

The last of the blood drains from the asset’s face. “Please,” he says, though it’s clear that he’s too far gone to finish the plea. “No more doctors…”

“Stand up,” Pierce says. A new inspiration has occurred to him. Ordinarily the asset isn’t allowed to make demands, but it’s an interesting - if unorthodox - way of making sure his message sticks. “Alright then. Since you’ve asked so nicely, just this once you don’t have to see the doctors. But I’ll still need to see for myself that there’s no damage before I send you off to get some rest.”

The asset sags where he stands, his whole face awash with pitiful relief. The tension starts creeping back again as Pierce continues to stand there, looking at him expectantly.

It seems that he has misunderstood.

Pierce steps forward, and turns up the cuffs off his sleeves. What he’s about to do is tasteless, embarrassingly crude - but then, subtlety so seldom works on a creature like the asset. “You’re going to have to bend over for me, sweetheart.”

The asset does bend over - to vomit clear bile all over the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be gross with me on [tumblr](http://lucymonster.tumblr.com)!


End file.
